She Lit the Candle
by MertleYuts
Summary: East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Our leading lady lights the candle and starts herself on a great adventure. Told a few ways with some very different leads.


**So mostly, this was me experimenting with different character types and tones. I wanted to choose a definitive moment in a fairy tale and try to make clear, in as few of words as I could, what sort of person the character had to be to make that decision. Then to see how completely different I could make characters who made that same exact decision. It was fun, and I highly recommend the exercise to anyone bored and looking for stuff to write. Let me know if you do, I'd love to hear about it!**

She Lit the Candle

She stared up at the lacy bed curtain and tried to imagine it was the same cracked and mildewed ceiling she had slept beneath every year of her life. Every year until this year.

She hadn't realized she would miss it so much, when she went off to places unknown on the back of a magical white bear. She was prepared to miss her mother's soft hands teasing the knots from her hair on Sunday mornings, her Father's gruff comments on the weather as they sat down around the evening fire, and even her elder siblings teasing her for burning the oats on cold sleepy mornings. The old ceiling had not even registered on the list of aches in her heart.

The white bear had seen her longing for her family and granted her two days to visit them. She went to see them in their bright new house and their bright new clothes. House and clothes she had won for them by agreeing to live with the white bear. She saw them happy. They had a glow to their cheeks of heath and ease, and she knew that she had made the right decision. Still, it healed the aches in her heart for Mother to brush her hair with a golden, soft-bristled brush and for father to gather the entire family around the fire-place after a warm and hearty dinner. It was that pristine white ceiling that kept her from the cozy sleep such a pleasant few days entailed. She wore fine bed clothes and her family lived in luxury, but there was a part of her that felt there was some kind of brutal truth in the last moments before sleep. In those moments she was the youngest daughter of a poor husbandman with a cracked ceiling and three elder siblings snoring softly in the same room.

Now she shared the bed with a man. The white bear, he claimed. A troll, her mother told her.

She watched the curtains shift in the silent breezes of late night. She felt the man shift in the sheets beside her. He had been very kind to her these months. As a bear, he walked the grounds with her. As a man, he had never pressed unwanted advances upon her. And they were unwanted, Mother had taught her that those attentions were for a marriage bed alone. Mother was rarely wrong about such things. Could she be wrong about him being troll?

It seemed unlikely.

He had warned her quite strenuously against speaking to her mother. She suspected now it was because he knew what Mother would say. The candle Mother had given her pressed like some great weight upon her chest. What did she owe this man, bear, and potential troll? She owed the glow in her family's faces. Father had always taught her to be mindful of the kindnesses others did you. But Mother had always said, with equal frequency, to be wary of the secrets others kept from you.

She pulled the candle from her nightclothes and rolled it in her fingers. There was something brutally truthful about the moments before sleep. She reached carefully for the box of matches at the bedside table.

She lit the candle.

.o.o.o.

She stared up at the lacy bed curtain and decided that love was a lot like lace: beautiful and delicate but made up, by its very nature, of tangles and knots.

She sighed heartily. It was such sweet bitterness to be in love. Or was it bitter sweetness? Sweet sorrow. There might as well be some alliteration.

She turned on her side, resting her chin on one hand and gazing— no— basking in the sight of her love, sleeping, and if she knew him, dreaming of her.

She almost hadn't come to the castle. When Pa had told her there was a strange white bear at the door asking after her and offering riches in exchange for her, she had flat out refused. She had nearly thrown away her chance to leave that dull, provincial life out of righteous spite at her father for thinking he could sell her off, for treating her as if she was some fine horse to be traded away. Even now, the thought of want she had almost given up made her shudder. If Willhelm, for so she had named him, had not come back for her the next day she might not be here, now, lying next to the man she loved. And she did love Willhelm. He was a prince among men, full of honor and subtle gentleness; she could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. He had the form of a dangerous bear during the day, but the body of a golden prince at night. Or, perhaps, he had the form of a powerful brooding warrior. She had yet to behold his glorious face with her own eyes, through no fault of either of theirs, she was sure.

It all had to do with Willhelm's honorable morals. He would only allow them to fall in the purest of love, and for that, she could not be swayed by the swoon-worthy features that she was sure he possessed. He had to be sure she loved him, and until then, she would not be allowed to see him in daylight. Though she wasn't quite sure why he hadn't taken the hint two weeks back when she had kissed him as he joined her for bed that evening. It was because he was too pure to let her be swayed by his prowess in the sheets that he pushed her away. It only further proved what an honorable man he was, of course, but she was beginning to wonder what he was waiting for.

She had almost laughed when Mum asked if he had tried to take advantage of her. If only he would. Mum had always been paranoid. She was always spying on the neighbors, convinced that anyone with a secret to hide could never be up to any good. She was glad to be out of that house. Away from Pa's dull gruffness and Mum's watching eye. She was in a castle now, living the great romantic adventure she had always felt she was destined for. Mum was far away and no longer had any say in her life. Now, if she could just get Mum out of her head.

She would just imagine Willhelms sweet face instead. That normally helped her sleep.

Because really, how could Mum even entertain the fool notion that Willhelm was anything but the most beautiful man alive? Willhelm had golden curls that fell softly upon a smooth brow, a powerful jaw, and supple lips that would turn up gently at the edges in composed smiles that spoke of eternity.

Why? She wondered desperately. Why would her love deny her? She loved him, and he loved her. She needed him, just as she needed the sweet air she breathed. The question tore at her heart with such sudden ferocity that she felt sure she might die if she did not see his face that very instant. The candle in her bosom might have lit itself upon the heat of desire she felt burning in her chest. The temptation was too great.

One peek. Just a little glimpse of his heavenly face and she could be content for as long as she needed to. She reached for the matches with great, bold motions.

She lit the candle.

.o.o.o.

She stared up at the lacy bed curtains and sorted through her mental files of the family trees of each and every noble family in the north. She lay perfectly still, hands on her stomach, and stared unblinkingly up. The only clue that lent itself to her being made of flesh and bone rather than stone was her right index finger, which tapped a slow and even rhythm on her left knuckle.

If he had taken her to the next province over or one province up, she would have had this frustrating mystery solved by now. She knew the name, history, death, and bastard children of each of the 14 noble families within four days ride of her home. She knew all 24 merchants who brought goods into the town a days walk from home, and the 11 who brought in more than just those declared goods. She knew that the barkeep at Lachire Tavern skimmed at least two shots of top shelf liquor every night. She knew that Mrs. Hannondale's lock conveniently broke every time Mr. Hannondale was away. She knew all the little things that most people seemed to go their entire life without seeing. It just seemed to come naturally to her, this curiosity— this need to solve the secrets that dared present themselves to her. And she did solve them; she solved them all. She had figured out months ago that the cursed man lying beside her was the bear during the day and a prince at midnight. What she didn't know was which prince, but she had it narrowed down to two.

There were hundreds of hints, the castle probably being the largest. She'd found spots on the wall where a coat of arms had been clearly removed, a large one and probably diamond shaped. There were books to keep track of taxes from the nearby towns and farms. There was the way the bear knew the lands around the castle with a familiarity only one who has explored them as a child can have. She had done her research in the library, in the nearby tavern, and in dinner conversations with the bear himself. This research had turned up three dukes and two princes with no living family who hadn't been seen in a court in at least five years.

Never before had she been presented with such a fantastically frustrating mystery. Not only did she have to search carefully for her clues, but if the bear found her paying too much attention to this book or that tapestry, he would have it removed. She had studied a portrait of a handsome older man in the west-most hallway for a few minutes one evening, and it had been removed the very next morning. It was like a game, and the prince was a worthy adversary. She would carefully interview him on different occasions, trying to get him to slip up, but he never would. It was this careful, politic way of answering that eventually convinced her he was one of the two princes. He had been trained in diplomacy and word games with a thoroughness that a duke was far less likely to receive.

Now if she could just decide which prince.

She had run into a wall a month back, where she couldn't seem to make any progress on the mystery. It had nearly driven her mad with stagnation, and she had been forced to solve three robberies and a murder in the town nearby just to keep the frustration at bay. Finally, she had begged time to see her family. She used a day of the two given her to visit the monastery nearby, a full day of research where she could work alone and un-hindered. She was worried that it was cheating, but she was at her wit's end. Of course, mother had tried to suggest some hare-brained theory that he was an ogre, but that was mother.

Her two princes: The Hollenkin line was always blonde and owned land rich in iron ores. The Lindenbergs line was more often brown haired with prominent noses and land rich in copper ores. She turned over the options, examined her clues. He had to be Prince Jasper Hollenkin, she decided finally. She blinked and her finger stilled with the conclusion. There had been a hair on the pillow one night. She had mistook it for the bear's pale fur, but she thought now that it was much more like hair than fur.

She was right, of course; she had solved the mystery and she could rest easy now. She stared up at the curtains and resumed tapping her finger.

There was hardly any copper work in the entire castle, and an armory of steel weapons even larger than that warranted by your typical prince. She was right. She knew she was.

She just needed to confirm it.

She took a deep breath and moved an arm for the first time since lying down. She pulled the candle from her sleeping gown. Prince Jasper Hollenkin. He would have blonde hair and likely the same sharp jaw as the man in the portrait from the west-most hallway. Her heart beat furiously with the feeling of victory. She lived for these moments.

She lit the candle.

.o.o.o.

She stared up at the lacy bed curtains and continued to count.

One hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and six.

One hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and seven.

How long did it take trolls to fall asleep? When he'd come to her every night before, he had seemed to fall asleep almost immediately, but that had been back when he was a man. Now that he was a troll, everything was different. To think, all these nights, she had been sleeping with a troll. He could have eaten her at any point, and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing! She would have woken up, leg half gnawed off, and have cursed herself for never once suspecting. She'd even examined the entire castle for trolls, wielding a sword stolen from one of the suits of armor that lined the halls. Well, admittedly, she had been looking for secret passages, but if she had stumbled across a troll she would have been ready for that too.

She thought of how the white bear had laughed at her when he saw her, knocking on walls and pulling on candle holders. After all, any self respecting adventurer knew that was how secret passages were discovered. He had informed her he knew of not a single secret passage in the castle, but there was magic in the attic; so they went there instead. What was she to think of their adventures, now that she knew he had been a troll all along?

One hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and eight.

One hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and nine.

She gripped the candle Ma had given her in one hand, and dagger— well, letter opener— in the other. She hadn't been able to sneak the sword into bed with her. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea of stabbing him. Troll or not, he had been kind to her. She just wanted to be prepared when she lit the candle. She didn't know much about trolls, but she felt it safe to assume trolls were extremely cranky if woken in the middle of the night and might try to console themselves with a quick midnight snack on the nearest leg.

Was it time? One hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and ten.

Surely he was asleep by now. Her hand shook as she held the candle. Maybe she should just sneak away? Run from the castle in her nightgown, back to her family. There was really no point in looking since she already knew his secret, but deep in her heart, she knew that an adventurer should always face the monster, if only so that they could tell the stories of it later.

She fumbled for a match on the bedside table, and silently cursed herself as she realized she had to put down the letter opener before she could grab one. She sat up, carefully easing herself u p so as to disturb the sheets as little as possible. She placed the letter opener on her lap so she could snatch it up again as soon as she tossed the match. She slowed her breathing, which had managed to work its way up near hyper-ventilation when she wasn't looking. Adventurers always faced the monster.

She lit the candle.


End file.
